Faith, Doubt, and the Risk of “Yes”
Texts: The Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55) and Matthew 11:2-11
Advent isn’t just a countdown to Christmas. It’s a season of deep longing—a space where hope and uncertainty, trust and questioning, all share the same table. The stories we hear this season aren’t simple tales of “just believe.” They are honest stories of ordinary people—Mary and John the Baptist—risking openness right in the heart of uncertainty. They invite each of us to risk a “yes” to God, even when we can’t see the whole picture.
Mary’s “Yes”: Bold, Risky, Real
Mary’s Magnificat is no gentle lullaby. It’s a radical song sung by a teenager from the margins—someone who has every reason to say no. When the angel invites her to become the God-bearer, Mary isn’t handed a blueprint. There are no guarantees, no promises of comfort or safety. She knows her “yes” could mean misunderstanding, gossip, or even her death. Yet she responds, “Let it be with me according to your word.”
Mary’s response isn’t naïve or blind faith. It’s hope-filled trust in a God whose Dream is so big it lifts the lowly, fills the hungry, and scatters the proud. Her “yes” doesn’t make life easier—it makes it more real. She welcomes the incarnation, letting God’s life take root in her ordinary, messy existence.
Richard Rohr reminds us: Mary is the first disciple. Her wholehearted “yes,” even when it is costly, models the power of openness—a willingness to let God’s Dream unfold in and through us. Holiness, for Mary, is not about escaping real life but entering it more deeply — becoming Theotokos, a God-bearer, right in the mess and beauty of our humanity.
John’s Question: The Faithfulness of Doubt
And then there’s John the Baptist—the prophet who spent his life “preparing the way,” calling people to repentance, picturing a Messiah who would arrive in fire and judgment. But now John is in prison, at the end of his rope. He hears rumors: Jesus is healing outsiders, eating with the wrong people, showing mercy instead of judgment. Jesus isn’t fitting John’s expectations. So John asks: “Are you really the one?”
The Gospel gives us this holy moment of vulnerability. Even the boldest prophet, the one who once recognized Jesus before anyone else, now hits the wall. For John, faith isn’t a straight line. It’s a winding path—longing, disappointment, wrestling with God’s mystery. Jesus doesn’t dismiss John’s questions. He points to the evidence: “The blind see. The lame walk. Lepers are restored. The poor receive good news. Blessed are those who aren’t scandalized by the way I work.” In other words: trust what you see, even when it isn’t what you expected.
John’s questioning isn’t a failure. His honesty is holy. The gospel is clear: our doubts and questions are not barriers to God—they’re woven into the journey. God meets us not only in our certainties, but especially in our struggle to let go of old assumptions and expectations.
The Fullness of Faith: Both/And
Mary and John together show us the fullness of faith. Sometimes faith looks like Mary’s wholehearted yes. Sometimes it looks like John’s weary, honest question. Advent isn’t about either/or—it’s about both/and. It is possible to be filled with trust and filled with questions. To be open to God’s newness and still long for more certainty. Advent faith isn’t about walling off doubt or demanding certainty. It’s about making space for God to work—in the cracks, in the questions, in the unfinished places of our lives.
So What Does This Mean for Us?
It means God invites all of us—not just the saints or the certain—to become God-bearers. We’re all invited, like Mary, to make space for Christ to take root in our routines, our bodies, our relationships. And like John, we’re free to ask our questions honestly and to trust that God’s Dream is always bigger than our limited perspectives.
Advent isn’t a test of spiritual perfection. It’s an invitation to real life. It welcomes those ready to say yes, and those who can barely find the words. It honors our hopes and our doubts, knowing God works with both.
Maybe you’re in a “Mary” place—open to possibility, sensing new life where you least expect it.
Maybe you’re in a “John” place—wondering if hope is worth it, asking where God is when things don’t make sense.
Or maybe, like most of us, you carry both—wanting to believe, but longing for answers; wanting to say yes, but knowing it will change you.
Here’s the good news: God doesn’t wait for us to have it all figured out. God’s invitation comes in the thick of real life. In the midst of uncertainty, God asks for willingness, not perfection. God’s Dream is unfolding—in the world and in us—and our call is to make space, risk a yes, and trust that even our doubts can become doorways for grace.
Mary and John remind us that the Dream of God isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about making space—for grace, for newness, for transformation. It’s about letting God’s “yes” echo in our lives, and daring to echo it back, however imperfectly.
As we move toward Christmas, may we make room for all of it—our yeses and our questions, our hope and our uncertainty. May we find courage to let God’s Dream take root in us, trusting that even in the messiness of our lives, God is drawing near .